Still, as I passed by the river, spanned by its noble bridges, and covered with those innumerable barges in which the washerwomen of Paris ply their unceasing trade, eating, sleeping, and living constantly in their floating dwellings, I would think, with a shudder, that unless relief soon arrived, I must choose between its silent waters and a lingering death by starvation.

True, there are in Paris many employments open to women, but what was that to me?  Could I stand behind a counter and set forth with a glib tongue the merits of ribbons and laces; or bend over the rich embroidered robe of the fashionable lady; or even, like those poor washerwomen, earn my scanty livelihood by arduous manual labor?  I knew nothing of business; I knew nothing of embroidery; and I had neither the strength nor the capital necessary to set up the establishment of a blanchicheuse.

I had returned home, one evening, after another weary tramp.  As I looked from my lofty attic, and saw Paris glittering with her million lights, I said to myself:  ’Must I perish of hunger in these streets?  Must I starve in the midst of that abundance which might be mine but for the fact that I am a woman?  No!  I shall abjure my sex, and in the semblance of themselves, win from men that subsistence which they deny to a woman.’

The thought was no sooner conceived than executed.  Tearing off part of my woman’s attire, I threw around me an old cloak of my father’s, which now served as a coverlet to my lowly bed, and descended the long flights of stairs to the street.  Determined to have legal sanction for what I was about to do, I went straight to the Prefecture of Police.  It was not yet very late, and the Prefect was still in his bureau.  I entered his presence, told him my story, and demanded permission to put on male attire, and assume a masculine name, in order to obtain the means of subsistence.  He heard me respectfully, treated me kindly, and advised me to ponder well before I took a step so unusual and unseemly.  But I was firm.  Seeing my determination, he granted me a written permission.

Early next morning I took what remained of my feminine wardrobe and hastened to the Marche de Vieux Linge, (old clothes market,) which was not far distant from my place of abode.  Built on the site of the ancient Temple, the princely residence of the Knights Templar of old, and in later times the prison of Louis XVI. previous to his execution—­this vast market, with its eighteen hundred and eighty-eight stalls, hung with the cast-off garments of both sexes, and of every age, condition and clime, presents the appearance of a miniature city.  Men’s apparel, women’s apparel, garments for children of all sizes, boots and shoes, hats and bonnets, tawdry finery of every description, sheets and blankets, carpets, tattered and stained, military accouterments, swords and belts, harness, old pots and kettles, and innumerable other articles, attract attention in the different stalls.